


leaving the nest

by crackers4jenn



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:47:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23672545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackers4jenn/pseuds/crackers4jenn
Summary: In which Annie gets a crush, moves on, and comes back.
Relationships: Annie Edison/Jeff Winger
Comments: 3
Kudos: 83





	leaving the nest

**Author's Note:**

> Some slight unrequited Annie/Rich, but it's mostly Annie/Study group.  
> This was originally written in 2011. It takes place after _Epidemiology_ , but before _Asian Population Studies_.

***

This is how it starts:

Annie, finding herself weirdly attracted to Rich for reasons that have no factual merit (just _how_ does she assume he will be a fountain of information were there ever a zombie apocalypse, hm? You don't just ASSUME things like that! Clearly it has to mean something!), starts to loiter just a little longer in the dining hall. Hoping, she has no trouble admitting, that she might run into Rich in between snack lines. You know, maybe she will be up at the coffee line ordering something sweet but not so full of whipped cream and sugar that that he won't see her for the adult (ahem) she is, and he'll be in the line beside her buying something full of vitamins and wheatgrass. They'll both reach the check out register at the same time, but because Annie will be fumbling through her purse (definitely NOT carrying a backpack in this scenario) and Rich will be putting an important phone call from an ailing patient on hold, they'll only notice at the last minute that they've arrived at the same time. And he'll apologize first, of course, without realizing who she is, and then he'll recognize her, and she'll laugh and touch coyly at his arm while he offers to pay for her coffee.

From there, things either escalate into brazen territory -- Rich will ask her out on a date. A date! A real one, too, with romantic candle light and flowers. Maybe a nice pasta dinner... -- or she'll snap herself out of it with a small mental berating. She isn't a _child_. Adults don't sit there and fantasize like -- _that_.

When she does run into Rich, though, it's outside the library after a particularly pointless study group. Nobody had cracked their Anthropology books, it being so close to the end of yet another semester, but they all now knew how to identify dreams within a dream thanks to Abed's forty minute breakdown of _Inception_. Troy's walking her out, some deep thoughts on his mind.

"They say you should have a totem," he's telling her, "for being able to separate reality from your dreams, but. I think I'm cool. If I _did_ get stuck in a dream? I think I'd know. Yeah, 'cause dreams are where the impossible becomes possible. Like up here? On this reality? My chances with Jessica Alba are _slim_. But in my dreams? She's something like a sexy butt doctor."

And then, suddenly, Rich is there, startling them both.

"Rich!" Annie gasps with a hand to her chest, his name nothing but a high-pitched sound of shock. All of that day-dreaming, she never thought she would run into him like _this_. Out of nowhere. Unplanned. Not with the best available lighting.

"And Annie! From pottery class. Hey, you remembered."

"Well," Annie says, trying to subtly re-shift her backpack. She preens. " _Yeah._ "

Troy has his chest puffed up. Maybe he won't ever see Annie as a romantic lead in his life story, but he's still plenty protective.

"Who's this?" he asks, his eyes locked menacingly on Rich's.

Rich sticks out a polite hand. "You must think I'm completely mannerless."

"Yeah," says Troy. "I do."

"Troy!" Just barely, Annie manages to stifle the urge to smack him. She could, but then Rich would probably think she engages in that type of inane, juvenile behavior all the time. Which, for the record, she doesn't. With the intent of smoothing things over, she explains, "This is Rich. From pottery?"

"Don't know it."

"You might remember me more recently from that contaminated taco meat incident."

"Halloween's fuzzy on the ol' memory," says Troy. "Got some -- _important_ \-- things taking up brain space there."

"Right. Well. Maybe we just never met? I'm Rich."

Troy ignores the hand still hovering awkwardly in front of him. "Name's Troy. Troy Barnes. You might already know it 'cause I'm so--" Troy's eyes narrow, and he pops out the word: " _Popular_." 

"Oh, yeah! Ballet, right?"

Troy drops the intense pose for some crazy-eyed panic. "THAT is a man's sport! I looked _bad ass_ in that full body spandex! And you have no idea just how vigorously those twirls work your ab muscles, WHICH the ladies LOVE."

Annie shoots a quick look at Rich, who seems taken aback, of course, before wringing her hands together with worry. "Okay! Troy, why don't I talk to you later?"

Troy is near tears now, having been brought to an ugly insecure place. "Fine," he says, and goes to storm away. But he stops and points an overly emotional finger back at Rich. "Interpretive dancing offers no apologies. NONE." And then he strides off, silent sobs making his shoulders shake.

Briefly Annie wonders if maybe she should go after him. But then Rich swoops into her field of vision.

"That was quite the event. I feel like I should apologize."

"Oh. For Troy? You really don't have to! He's... _passionate_."

"That's remarkable. To have that kind of inner fire? Admirable!"

Annie beams, delighted as she is. So Rich isn't scared off by Troy. That's good. 

"Mind if I pop a serious proposal on you?" Before she can answer, he says, "I'd really like it if you had coffee with me. What do you say, Annie?"

Annie smiles. A lovely feeling floats through her. 

"I'd love to," she says.

***

One coffee date turns into four, and by the end of the week, Annie has started to feel a real, solid connection with Rich. She knows, for instance, that he prefers iced coffee to the hot kind, which means he manages to out-whipped-cream her own highly-sweetened taste. He still takes the same pottery class where they met, but that's because he enjoys being able to have a creative outlet and he finds helping others inspiring. He collects spoons. Wooden ones, antiques, expensive silver. He loves them all!

Knowing little things like that emboldens Annie, so that on that Friday -- technically their fourth date, although that word -- _date_! -- has never been uttered aloud between them -- she works up the nerve to invite him along with her to the study group's after-lunch meeting.

"A study group?" he says, eyes lit up, like isn't that the most darling thing: a study group! At a community college! 

She shrugs, bringing a still steaming cup of hot chocolate to her mouth. No marshmallows was her compromise. "It's become more of a preexisting excuse to get together and slack than anything resembling an organized study session. But, yeah. We assemble."

"It sounds like an awful lot of fun."

"Oh, it is." Annie sets her hot chocolate down, twitching with delight. Rich will _love_ her friends! "I mean, Abed's always goofing off with his _quirky_ little character impersonations, and Troy--"

"Troy Barnes," Rich recalls, with a pointedness that is light-hearted.

"He's actually really funny. Sometimes, when Pierce is--"

"Pierce?"

"Mmhm! He's our resident active senior."

"Wow. That's great."

"And there's Britta, of course. Our--"

"Resident water filter?"

Annie giggles, slapping playfully at his forearm. " _No_. She's the coolest girl I know. She's so smart and she cares a lot about really important causes. Things I've never even _heard_ of. And then there's Shirley, who--" Here, Annie's voice starts to grow more hush-hush, "--is a total nurturer, but step out of line? And she'll threaten to reassemble your face with a jukebox."

"Lucky I'm a doctor, then."

"Right? And, well, you already know Jeff. From pottery."

"Great!" Rich cheers. "So, let's go."

***

Everyone is already seated and deep into their various discussions when Annie and Rich show up.

"Hey, guys!" she chirps, hovering near the entrance with Rich at her side. Just testing the waters.

She receives a couple distracted greetings in return. And then Shirley happens to cast her eyes Annie's way and notices the new addition. 

Loud enough to be heard over the group conversation, Shirley says, all question marks and concern, "Ohhh heeey there, strange new man Annie brought."

Which makes five other heads swivel in Annie's direction. Rich, being his usual, gregarious self, offers up a small wave.

Britta rolls out a, "Hi?" that stretches a couple syllables long. Her eyes automatically seek out Jeff's.

"Uh, WHAT is he doing here?" asks Troy, with some fear laced into his hostility.

"Hello again!" Rich says to him, super enthused. There's eye twinkling and everything. "Troy Barnes, right? Dancer extraordinaire!"

"Oh god," breathes Troy, and then, like some kind of malfunctioning robot, he breaks down and hunkers forward into a safety cocoon. Everyone gasps, because this? This, they've seen before. Once -- last school year -- when Abed noticed a spider above their heads, dangling by the barest of threads. Troy had cried out, drew himself into a ball, and became unreachable until what he and Abed had later coined _Threat Level: Black Widow_ was dealt with. 

"Troy!" Shirley cries, clutching at her purse. Worry makes her voice go shrill. "Troy? Are you okay?"

Annie glances over at Rich, hoping to catch his attention. But he's staring at -- Annie follows his line of sight. He's staring at Jeff, weirdly, who is staring back, but with a strange looking glare.

Abed jumps to his feet. 

"I know what this is," he says. "Don't worry, I have the perfect remedy already in place." 

And then he darts past Annie and Rich with zero acknowledgment.

"Remedy?" breathes out Shirley. "What kind of remedy?!"

But Abed's already gone, and Troy is sinking further into despair. 

"Okay, what the HELL is going on?" wonders Britta. "For serious, we are dealing with a grown man... child... huddled over in a protective ball of emotion. Clearly something psychologically crucial is happening--"

"Him," cuts in Jeff, staring daggers at Rich.

Annie looks back over at Rich, wide-eyed and concerned but riding a swell of indignation too. "What?!"

Jeff, though, latches onto that thought. Slowly he gets to his feet, like he assumes that with height comes power. 

Rich holds up his hands. Blows out a laugh. "Jeff! I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Really?"

Like some kind of shield offering, Annie side-steps in front of Rich. "Jeff," she thinly warns, "I think you should be more careful where you sling those accusations."

Jeff's gaze flicks over to Annie. Something dark passes.

"Annie," Britta intervenes, calm-sounding, voice of all that is reasonable, "I think what Jeff is saying is that it seems like Troy's... _reaction_..."

"Dear lord," cuts in Shirley, in overly zealous prayer mode, "please let that boy be alright."

"He's fine!" Pierce insists, full of his usual, totally irrelevant wisdom. He slaps Troy on the back, who makes a whimpering noise and huddles further into himself. "See? It's nothing! What're you all so worked up about, yeesh. In my time, this is how a man handled over-stimulation. We closed ourselves off. We cocooned!"

"Well, whatever it is," Britta gets back on track with, "it's oddly coincidentally timed to you and your _guest's_ arrival."

"But," Rich reasons with his own logic and a warm smile. "All I did was say hello."

Half in lawyer mode, half-Goldblumming, Jeff's gaze tightens in on Rich. "Interesting, then, that Troy has since become a vegetable."

"Why are you jumping down his back?" Annie demands.

"Why are you defending him?"

Rich tries to valiantly diffuse the situation. "It seems as if there's currently a lot of pent up adrenaline--"

"DON'T," snap both Jeff and Annie. Then Annie realizes that she went off on the wrong person, and she turns with a cringe.

"Rich, I am _so_ sorry--"

"Annie, it's fine. Like I said. This is simply a highly charged--"

"Cut the crap, Pottery MD. What'd you do to Troy?"

"This is ridiculous! I think, everyone, that your friend is having a severe anxiety attack brought on by--well, any number of things."

Abed suddenly zips past with a giant water bottle.

"Drink this," he instructs Troy's huddled form, managing somehow to stick the bendy straw in between a gap where Troy's face is partially exposed.

With a gasp, Troy straightens to. He's like a jack-in-the-box, shooting upwards, springing back to life. Because it warrants relief, Shirley and Britta rush over, crowding around him with coos and attention.

"What'd I tell ya?" Pierce chuckles. "Like he's been reborn!"

"Troy, what happened?" worries Britta.

"I don't know... I got this really tight feeling in my chest. Like how it feels whenever I accidentally watch _Steel Magnolias_."

"Sad movie," agrees Abed.

"Then," Troy finishes, "everything went dark, like a blackout. Only not fun."

"Classic symptoms of--" Rich holds up his hands, as if to say: told ya so. "An anxiety attack."

Realizing Rich is still around, Troy yelps. Then awkwardly clears his throat. 

"That," he attempts to save face, "was a noise that escaped before I had time to make it more manly. My apologies."

Shirley tenderly pats him on the shoulder. 

"Wow," says Rich. "So, I guess Troy is having an adverse reaction to--maybe it's my cologne, or the surprise of seeing a new face in a familiar setting? Change can be difficult for some."

"Maybe you should go," Britta gently suggests.

Everyone starts tossing in their agreement. 

"Guys!" Annie silences them. "Troy's fine now. And, well. I thought maybe Rich could join us--"

"That dude is a _SORCERER OF DARKNESS_ \--"

"I don't know, Annie. I'm not normally on-board with the kind of dangerous, mass consensus that represses individual--"

"Aw, Annie, he seems sweet, but after what he did to poor Troy? Uh-uh. That man can take his wholesome good looks elsewhere--"

"Who the hell is Rich?"

"While his addition has the potential to be fodder for huge group reveals, I can't back something that also comes with a mortality risk. Sorry."

Annie stands there, mouth open, shock running rampant. 

"Jeff?" she tries, hoping that the one person who has yet to voice an opinion, the one who usually holds the most influence and power, might be able to cut through the ridiculousness of banning Rich.

Without even looking at her, he rules, "Sorry. Looks like our quota for pretend pottery novice doesn't need to be filled." Back to the group, with authority: "Shall we?"

Those standing slink back to their seats, lazy with the idea of having to study.

"Seriously?!" yells Annie.

"Hey, you know what? It's okay." Rich goes the slightly patronizing, trying-to-be-comforting route. "I get it. You guys have an established group harmony here--"

"UH, you should _really_ go spread your evilness somewhere else," advises Troy.

Rich holds up his hands and relents. "Sure thing." 

He whirls around and leaves, and Annie's indignation deepens. It only spreads out and grows farther when everyone picks up where their conversation had left off. Just like that. Britta and Jeff dip close towards each other, smirking, murmuring in low, private tones. Troy and Abed begin laughing back and forth, complete with anxiety attack reenactments (this time with 100% more attacking.) Shirley is bobbing her head in the direction of both pairs, clearly trying to eavesdrop or be invited in, while Pierce pretends to text someone.

"So," says Annie, barely controlling her emotions, though she's on an upswing of crazy. "I _invite_ a _good friend_ to what has turned more into an open forum for gossip than a formal study session, and because Troy freaks out, your solution is to send him away like he's some kind of morally loose delinquent?!"

"That wasn't just a freak-out," Britta lays in gently, "that was a total mental breakdown."

"But in a cool, manly way," adds Troy, gruffly.

"If he isn't welcome here," Annie says, then decides, right then, right in that moment: "Well, then I can't be here either!" 

It's powerful, using that. Important. If Jeff is the study group's voice, she's its backbone. They would flounder without her. Absolutely. 

Britta scrunches up her face. "Annie..."

"I guess," ventures Shirley, in a flat, toneless voice, "we have no other choice but to--"

"Let her go."

That's Jeff. He's staring off towards Pierce and Troy, but his shoulders, Annie sees, are stiff with tension.

"Here it is," Abed nods, whispering appreciatively to himself. "The surprising turn."

"Plot twist," laughs Pierce in agreement.

"Oh, I'm not a fan of that reference," Abed tells him. "It's become way too referential."

"Nerd twist," mutters Pierce, petulantly tossing his weight around.

Annie, though, is making her way towards the empty chair beside Jeff. She eases up behind it, grabbing at its fabric-covered back-side. Her fingers dig in.

"Jeff?"

"I'm serious," he says, angling a bored look her way. "If that's your ultimatum, go."

"But--"

"What did you expect? This isn't Kindergarten. We aren't going to vote you in. If you don't want to be here, it's simple. _Don't_."

And that's that.

***

Rich, of course, takes the group's rejection swimmingly. He understands, he says, their reaction perfectly -- even applauds it. Annie is their surrogate group daughter, and seeing her with a member of the opposite sex clearly kicked in a sense of territorial protectiveness. And Troy obviously has some strong insecurities related to his extracurricular activities.

Annie doesn't tell him, though, that she had stuck up for him. That she'd pitted herself against the group, and they had wound up choosing --

Well, that doesn't matter now. 

***

It's easy to avoid everyone. 

There's a two week break, at first, and then it's a matter of not going to the library, even though Annie finds herself drawn towards that end of the school like it has some kind of magnetic hold on her.

In their shared classes, she sits somewhere other than in the middle of the usual group cluster. Once, by Star Burns. Just once.

She gets a few concerned glances from Shirley. Some questioning eyes from Britta. Abed is constantly pointing back at her, deep in whatever narrative stars a scorned heroine. But no one attempts to bridge the gap. They don't have any apologies to offer, so neither does she.

***

Rich introduces Annie to his friends. It helps shelve off a depression that Annie feels anchored deep within, tethered loosely to her bones. She likes them instantly. They all dress smartly, have real job aspirations, and treat her like an adult. 

There's Carnac, a 20-something Annie knows vaguely from the Greendale Gazette. He provides the movie reviews under the alias _Cynic Critic Carnac_ , although she finds him to be quite sweet.

Brad is a rival City High School graduate from Annie's same year. He played sports growing up, developing an impressive set of muscles he hides beneath sweater vests and bow ties. He's currently the lone straight guy on Greendale's otherwise very progressively gay basketball team.

Sylvia's in her early thirties and is at Greendale to enrich her culinary skills. She wants to soothe the world with popcorn ball treats. 

Filtra reminds Annie a little of Britta, in a good way: directionless in life, but she thrives on humanitarian efforts. Even though she's just twenty-seven, she's already helped build villages in Third World countries, was part of the fix-up effort in New Orleans, and does daily Habitat for Humanity work. 

They even have a Pierce. Pryce Nettlebig is a successful, middle-aged, raven-haired entrepreneur (remarkably enough, he built an empire around dry towelettes), but he's on the whole inoffensive. 

It's nice, Annie decides, fitting like a loose puzzle piece into a group of sophisticated adults. It gives her reason to ditch the backpack, to rattle off about subjects Britta usually steamrolled over with her more liberal opinions or Shirley dismissed with a term of endearment, to feel like she fits in her skin. She feels like she belongs. She feels wanted.

****

(Shirley and Britta stare across the dining hall at Annie and her new friends. All matched together in cleverly coordinated cardigans. They look like Greendale's prep squad, if Greendale's prep squad wasn't already the sad and slightly creepy offering of The Human Being mascot and Leonard.

"Well, it's official. Annie's been lost to the dark side," says Britta, tapping loose her straw with an effort that turns manic in her bitterness. She sticks it in a tall glass of nearly iceless soda and takes a sip while Shirley's face darkens into a glower.

"We should've never let her go. She's just a baby!"

"Shirley, that kind of thinking is what got us into this mess in the first place."

Abed slides into the booth just in time to hear the tail end of their conversation.

"What kind of mess?" he asks. "Personal, like Star Burns and Chang sharing a meal that gives off near tangible vibes of _plotting_ \--" It's true. One glance over confirms it. Star Burns and Chang are whispering intensely at one another, and their random, unfriendly gestures towards the study group's table is probably not because they are saying really glowing things about them. "Or," Abed continues, picking up his juice box, "circumstantial, like a misinterpreted email that leads to empty revelations?"

"The retrospective mess of treating Annie like a child," answers Britta, while Jeff and his tray of chicken fingers slides in beside Abed.

"I thought we banned talk of You Know Who," he warns.

Britta rolls her eyes. Troy slips in on Shirley's side with his own tray, only it's filled with cake. Plural. There are four different plates.

He gasps. "Are we talking about the Dark Lord?"

At this, Pierce rolls up, his cast-covered legs forcefully and carelessly knocking into people who have the misfortune of getting in his way. 

"Stop shoving your religious overlords down our throats!" he complains. "As a level five-and-three-quarter Laser Lotus--"

"That is a _cult_ , you offensive old fool," seethes Shirley.

"The Dark Lord," Troy explains, licking at some frosting, "is the type of dude, trust me, you do not want to mess with."

"Like Jesus," Shirley happily fills in.

That throws the group into a ten-minute long conversational tailspin.

Finally Britta cuts off the nonsense with a loudly expressed, "Can we get back to our original topic, please, one that, _OH BY THE WAY_ , can be scientifically backed? We were talking about ANNIE. Remember?"

"Uh," Jeff reminds them all, "we weren't, because talking about You Know Who--"

"Voldemort," breathes out Troy appreciatively.

Jeff glares, but continues on undeterred, "It implies we care. Which, say it with me now: _we don't_."

Instead of complying, everyone trades concerned glances. Even Pierce.

"Not to throw a wrench in your assessment, but. I think we actually might?" says Britta. 

"If this were TV," Abed points out, "this past month would've been condensed into a two-minute montage. Song choice?" His eyes go narrow. "Depressing."

Troy, who feels this sentiment in the soul, raises a fist to his mouth. "Oh god. Please don't be 'Eleanor Rigby'."

Jeff stays stubborn. "Guys. Annie bailed on _us_. Remember?"

"Yeah, because we acted like the North Korean government and dictated that she couldn't bring a friend to study group."

"Not a friend. _Rich_. That fake-pottery douchebag would've contaminated us, and you know it."

"Ahem," pipes up Shirley. "Not to cast any aspersions on this wonderful thing we have going here... aren't we already contaminated without Annie? After all, she's part of our group, and if she's missing, well. That's contamination."

Troy admits, "My grades have dropped A LOT now that she's braining it up with some other group."

"Pryce Nettlebig," growls Pierce with the kind of graveness that demands attention. "Dry towelettes? Ha! That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!"

"Uh, okay?" says Shirley. She shares a _well, he's gone and lost it now_ glance with Britta.

Pierce rumbles out an explanation. "Arch-nemesis. Like you and hair nets, I assume."

Ignoring Shirley's glare, Abed dishes out the harsh truth.

"It was fun at first, not having Annie around. Our usual roles became more loosely defined in order to pick up the slack. Troy the homework stickler. Britta the emotional livewire. Shirley the resident 'aww'-er. But we're at the end of our rope here. I'm afraid we're delving too far into overcompensation."

Just then, Annie's high-pitched laughter rolls their way. She's enjoying herself and whatever dumb, pretentious thing Rich is whispering in her ear. She is surrounded by happy, smiling people, obviously well-adored.

"Oh," says Shirley, using her sad, gloomy, yet still somehow Glinda-the-Good-Witch-sounding voice. "Guess that's it, then. Annie's really moved on."

The mood shifts. Britta sets her soda down with a glare, like the thought of liquid refreshment cheapens the gravity of the moment. Pierce lets out a deep, gusty sigh, then covertly glances around to make sure that is the appropriate reaction, then does so again for good measure. Shirley's eyes are downcast. Abed's gone internal. Troy's making choking sounds, which means he's probably thinking of 'Eleanor Rigby.' 

"Wow, seriously, you guys are infants," Jeff both complains and accuses, and, as desired, the emotions snap from forlorn to that swirly, dark cloud of anger Shirley wears best but right now everyone else is matching. 

"Come the unbelievable hell again?" says Britta, all warning bells and silent threats.

"Jeffrey," Shirley says, "That's not--"

"Nice. Yeah. I got it. Guys--" Jeff gets that WINGER SPEECH craze in his eyes, and he begins to wield his chicken finger with purpose, "--there comes a time in every study group's life when one of its birds leaves the nest. That bird is Annie, and that time was _a month ago_. Do we grieve? I would be a liar and a thief if I said we didn't. Do we miss the bird? _Yes,_ but the point is, that bird left, flew away, and built itself a new twig home with someone who not only offends on _every single moral surface_ , but is proof it's possible to over-moisturize. We need to let her go."

Reluctantly, they realize he's right. Letting her go. It's for the best. 

Pierce, however, is still a couple conversational points behind. 

"You called us infants," he says, and there's a demand in there for an explanation.

"Because," Jeff reasons, in his _can you really blame me though?_ voice, "you were all acting like it."

Gone goes the acceptance that had begun to hover over them like a light, low-settling haze, and back comes the heightened emotions.

"Oh, _of_ course," realizes Britta, "put through the Jeff Winger emotional translator, _grieving for a lost friend_ obviously equals _immaturity._ "

"I know you're not calling me an infant, Jeff," Shirley says, eyes narrowing dangerously, "because friends don't talk to each other like that, not unless the one doing the name-calling secretly didn't like the person they were offending even though they once accepted a Christmas gift from that person--"

Troy's eyes are misty, his fist clenched tightly against his mouth again. "No way are those 'Eleanor Rigby' lyrics cycling through my head like some kinda cyclone with the power of _sadness_. And these are definitely not tears, sometimes I just like to express myself through fallin' eye-water."

Somehow cutting through the group chaos, Abed sounds loud and clear. 

"Overcompensation," he points out with a reaffirming nod, like there it is, the final piece of evidence. "This isn't working for us, Jeff. We need our balance back. Annie's that balance."

In his eyes, there is a challenge. Rise up. Be the leader. Or fail, and, in doing so, fail them all.

"Okay, okay, okay. _Alright_ ," Jeff gives in, his annoyance sliding into a moodily given surrender. "So, what do we do about it?")

***

Annie's newly perfect world slowly starts to crumble.

It starts out small. So little, and so bizarrely, she doesn't even notice at first. An incident with Pryce over some spilt soda is the trigger. She'd gone into her purse for her wet wipes reserve -- automatic, completely without thought -- and he'd hemmed and hawed and offered, from his own bag, a drab-looking box of dry towelettes. The _Nettlebig!_ logo was sprinkled every couple of inches for aesthetic stimulation. But she'd politely refused, her fingers already grazing her own carried package of Hawthorne Wipes. 

That... ended with a storm out, and some strongly hurled insults at the expense of Pierce.

***

" _The hummingbird has been spotted. I repeat. The hummingbird has been spotted_."

Annie, alone at a table in the back part of the library, her study tools her only companions, looks up as that familiar voice drifts out towards her from the tall, endlessly deep rows of shelved books.

"Troy?" she calls out, glancing around.

The response she receives is a high-pitched noise of -- something. Air, or a breath. The sound of guilty, panicked fleeing.

Strange, but not so off the wall unusual it distracts her. Maybe it's some bored freshmen. Maybe the AC is on the fritz. Soon enough she's back to flipping through note cards, a highlighter in hand. She's tracing in purple shades over her neatly written words -- _Relaxation stands quite generally for a release of tension, a return to equilibrium_ \-- when she hears suspicious movement again.

"I think... yeah, okay, Annie -- I mean, _the hummingbird_ , is back in visual range," is heard in a whispered voice that's closer than before. Definitely in the next stack over. And definitely Troy.

There's a crackled-sounding response that comes from a phone put on speaker. 

"Approximate location?" It's Abed. 

"Back of the library. Near that water fountain that always smells like Doritos farts."

Annie lays her note cards down. Rolls her eyes. Far below there is a burst of fondness that surprises her. Not because it exists. Because of how strongly she feels it.

"Troy," she says, that eye-roll flattening out her voice. "I know that's you."

Abed can be heard from his side of the conversation. "We've been compromised," he says. "Roll out!"

Annie rises to her feet. She misses this, she realizes. Misses _them._

"ABORT!" Abed instructs. 

There's a crash of books, a sudden flurry of movement, and then Troy is rushing past with shouts of, "I am definitely not Troy! Your eyes are bold-faced liars! None of this is real!" in his wake. He speeds off towards the dorms. Probably to Abed. 

Annie sinks back into her chair, ignoring the gawking students whose studying has been momentarily disrupted. She calmly goes back to her note cards, picking up where she left off. 

***

Brad injures himself in a keg stand flip.

"Not a _flip_ ," he scoffs, like that would've been _ridiculous_ , can they all please show a little more faith in him as a human being? "A somersault. There was some spatial miscalculations that resulted in, well--" He holds up his cast-covered arm with an awww-shucks shrug. "I really thought I'd be able to land it, too. I mean, when you have the aerial advantage of jumping off a _ridonkulously tall_ ladder--"

Annie slowly drifts into a foggy mental place as the familiarity of the injury hits. How weirdly exact Brad's accident resembles Troy's senior year high school misfortune. 

And then there's Filtra and Rich. 

How many countless times has Annie wandered upon the two of them caught up in some empty, banter-filled argument that renders her invisible while they duel in words and loaded glances? She's seen that often enough, hasn't she, with Britta and Jeff? 

Annie isn't entirely naive enough to believe that it matters, really. Any of it. Pryce has a healthy and competitive professional outlook. So what? Brad apparently has trouble landing somersaults. Filtra and Rich are old friends. Whoop-dee-doo.

But still. The feelings of uneasiness, of discontent, have formed.

***

With a green light from Dean Pelton, they decide to put on a play for the local middle schoolers. Annie suggests something that warns of the dangers of addictive agents, like, say, pills. Rich has a different idea.

"Third World famine!" he offers up, complete with a showy, open-armed gesture. Dean Pelton nods brightly, warming instantly to this idea.

"But," Annie tries, "wouldn't there be a bigger impact if we stuck with something these kids could relate to? We don't need to over-educate, we're not _Fox News_."

The Dean points a finger her way. " _Ver_ y valid point," he says.

Rich chuckles. "Annie, are you peer pressuring me?" It's a joke, and the old Annie would've gasped at it. 

"Ohhhhh," hums the Dean, "okay, I can see this is gonna get heated. I'm just--" He slides out a nearby chair and takes a seat, peering up at them with rapt attention.

In the end, Rich produces the play. 

Annie's costume is a giant mosquito. Her character is _malaria._ The children rebel.

***

She keeps bumping into her old study group. 

Shirley in the hot meals line, offering only a curt nod hello before speeding off just as quickly as she appeared. Britta outside on cloudless days when Annie spends her time in between classes reading the latest Meg Cabot novel on sun-warmed benches. Troy is at the pep rallies. Abed seems to hover perpetually at her peripheral. Pierce is as constant of an eye sore in the halls as Leonard is.

Jeff, though, is less subtle.

***

He surprises her one evening by dropping into the empty theater seat beside her. She's supposed to be meeting her friends to see Greendale's production of a _Wicked_ variant. _Variant_ because: instead of witches, which Dean Pelton had worried might be too labeling, it's rumored to be a musical about non-worshiping sisters of a non-determined race.

"Wow, is this awkward or what?" Jeff says, in a tone that suggests the exact opposite. "Running into each other. Here. At a Greendale function advertised as a _'Can miss_.'"

Even though there are dozens of thoughts running through her head -- how in the world did he find her? the show, its title changed for politically correct reasons to _Sorta Unsavory!_ , is starting soon enough to warrant worry that their talking might be bothersome; where the heck is Rich? -- Jeff and his oozing smugness rattles her most. She feels a flare up of her old, uptight self, too quick for her to repress. 

"Jeff! What are you doing here?"

"Uh, catching myself a pretty can-miss show?" There's a DUH heavily implied in there.

Movement in the row ahead catches her attention, and when she turns, slow like she's in a dream, she recognizes Abed.

"Hey, Jeff," he greets, munching on popcorn, taking a seat.

Jeff's response sits low in his throat. "Abed." He could've been in class, as bored as he sounds.

Shirley waves from three rows over, a bright smile on her face. "Jeffrey! Yoo hoo!" 

And then Annie realizes everyone else is spaced out in the small theater too. Troy, Pierce, Britta. They're all there, strategically dropped in like they're staging some kind of post-breakup intervention.

"What's... going on?" she asks, wide-eyed, paranoid.

"How's Doogie Poser?" Jeff throws back instead.

She spots Rich at the theater entrance, a couple of elderly women surrounding him. He must've stopped at the retirement center beforehand and grabbed some of his gal pals, he calls them. The women at those places _love_ Rich, because he's equal parts attentive and charming, plus he has the kind of generic face that vaguely resembles their fallen war heroes. Perfect for the addle-minded.

"Look. You should come back."

Too busy trying to catch Rich's attention, Jeff's words don't really register. Instead she offers back a distracted, "What?" while she shifts forward in her chair, raising an _over here!_ hand. Rich, though, is shuffling slowly along, giving an oral history of the theater to his guests. Right now they are staring at a poster board on the wall featuring fliers from past performances.

"To the study group. Where we all got together and realized, hey. Annie's not here. That... sucks."

Something about the shock of the situation, about the past month in general, has her clinging to some strong sense of indignation. It's ridiculous, all of a sudden, that Jeff is here, trying to -- what? Invite her back? And even as that thought makes something slip inside -- it's like a burst, this new, surprising feeling of being missed -- something else shifts over that, heavy and slow like tall, closing castle doors. They _all_ just forgot about her. Every last one of them, because of Rich -- and Troy's weird freak-out, and Jeff's perpetual pettiness. How can she ignore that? How can that suddenly be okay?

And Jeff, so clearly uncomfortable with basic human emotions, awkwardly blowing through what she imagines is his version of an apology -- it's easier to be offended by that.

"Excuse me," she says while abruptly standing up. Driven by determination, she tilts back her head, stiffens her shoulders, and sails past him. The dimmed lights that flank the center row have everything bathed in a warm yellow glow, and as the distance between her and Jeff furthers, her vision begins to tilt.

Rich slides forward, grabs her elbow. 

"Annie!" he says, in that happy, over-eager way of his. "Hey, there you are! I picked up a couple of my gal pals," he tells her, aiming a grin towards the three elderly women standing stiffly at his side, "and I figured I'd show them a wonderful night out. It's good, at their age, for them to have a break away from the monotony of assisted living."

She forces a smile. "Can I talk to you?" 

"Can you hold that thought another ninety minutes?" His eyes get a glow that suggests there is a funny kind of conspiracy afoot. "What do y'say we head for the snack bar, ladies? Sno Caps on me." Annie gets a wink for that, and then his hand is squeezing hers and he and his entourage shuffle off towards the concession area.

Annie heads for the exit.

***

Going from a chilled theater into a muggy, breezeless night is like being smothered with a Snuggie.

All of Annie's righteousness seems to get instantly doused, too, so that what started out as an empowered storm off now feels like an anticlimactic tantrum.

She's standing outside the theater rubbing circles over her arms when she hears then sees Abed step up beside her.

He doesn't say anything for a long time, just cocks his head, peers out at the empty Greendale quad with his laser-like focus. 

"You're like--"

" _Abed_ ," she sighs, because now is not the time for movie references.

He glances over at her, but he's back to staring off into empty space by the time she catches it.

"I was going to say, you're like the moral part of a fairytale. It's there the whole time, but most people take it for granted. When it's missing, you don't realize how important it is until you're eating a poisoned apple, and by then--" He makes a cutting motion across his neck. 

"Abed," she says again, but with emotions she doesn't try to hold back -- it's _Abed._ She shakes her hands out, like she might cry.

"Letting Rich into the group was important to you," he realizes. "You needed to be taken seriously. You needed to feel heard." 

"Yeah."

They don't say anything for awhile. What is there to say? Abed just seems to _get_ it. 

"You should come back," he tells her, still not meeting her eyes. 

So she does.

***

Annie sets out her pens and binder with an attention to detail that borders on reverential and obsessive. 

Still, there is a new lightness in her movement. A different happiness there than before.

Jeff comes in, drops his books onto the table where they scatter, a sudden chaos in her created calm. He sinks like dead weight into his chair, immediately going limp with a laziness that makes Annie wince because it's just so _careless_.

"Hey," he nods, but it's distracted, noncommittal. He's already pulling out his cellphone, his eyes glued to the small screen.

"Hey," she smiles back anyway.

Troy and Pierce noisily enter at the same time, mid-argument.

"If he's the Dark Lord, why doesn't he just kill 'em all? One swipe of the wand. Bye-bye Pottery World."

Troy chuckles one of those hollow-sounding laughs that mean: congratulations, you are pretty dumb. 

"Uh, first of all, it's not called _Pottery World_ \--"

"Well, whatever!" Pierce waves this fact away as inconsequential. "Pottery Barn. Potter Wood."

"From now on," Troy is saying, pulling out his seat, "you are banned from all Harry Potter talk. Seriously."

"That's--"

"FOR REAL, I will mess up your face."

Pierce seems stunned, then impressed.

"WOW," rattles off Jeff, still deeply into his phone. "The world's most pointless conversation. Congratulations."

Shirley arrives right after, with Britta and Abed trailing. 

"She had her first sink bath. Can you believe it? A bath, in the sink! Already!"

"Pretty soon she'll move onto sink _bubble_ baths," Abed jokes.

"I know!" 

Britta says, "I have a cat actually that prefers sink _showers_."

To Troy and Pierce, Jeff changes his mind: " _Second_ most pointless conversation."

Once everyone is settled, Jeff sets down his phone and gives the room his undivided attention. There is a moment of expectant silence. 

Then:

"Can we _please_ talk about Duncan's complete lack of credentials," breathes out Britta, reeling forward as if overcome by the injustice of it all.

"UGGGGGGGGH, YES, WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM," agrees Troy, similarly hyped up.

That takes them off on a tangent at the same time that Annie's phone buzzes with a text message.

 _welcome back_ , it says, from Jeff.

Surprised, she glances up. He's smiling at her. Slow and easy. Warm. She returns the look, feeling a softness in her chest. 

And then just like that, it's over.

"ALRIGHT," Jeff loudly calls for attention. "This quiz isn't going to fail itself. Can we, for two minutes, pretend like we're a study group that actually studies?"

A whole bunch of reluctantly murmured agreement rises up around them.

"Awesome," Jeff says, with just the slightest sarcastic twinge. 

Books are flipped open, pens gripped. A small argument takes hold of group momentum while they try and decide which part of which chapter they're supposed to be on, and then another silence hits.

After a moment, Jeff dips his head Annie's way. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

"OH!" she realizes. Because she usually -- or, she _used_ to -- "I should--" 

Flustered, she cracks open her binder, its neatly stacked pages held within offering a familiar comfort that at once calms her. 

"So," she begins again, confident, ridiculously happy. "There's an essay portion that seems like a potential land mine."

~~~

THE END


End file.
